Painful Resolution
by Madame Cyanure
Summary: A dead archivist. A smoking gun. A broken team. Just why did Jack do it? Warning: frequent swearing and aspects of M-rated. Janto. x
1. Chapter 1

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**Hey guys - I'm baaaaack! :) After having been on a diet of chocolate and no writing for the past two months, I am fanficing with a vengence! It actually felt so great writing this, seriously. I'm looking to develop this into a full blown story, as this is just the prologue (sorta), but like always it depends entirely on what everyone thinks of it. So, please read and review because, you know, I love every comment that isn't a flamer. :) x**

**********DISCLAIMER: Annoyingly, I don't own anything but I ain't gonna apologise for this. If Russell T Davies can do it, so can I! x**_****__****__****__****_

**The Present**

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'Get out. Now.'

The words came from Jack's mouth. Spat with venom at the figure in front of him. One whose every cell was becoming increasingly difficult to gaze upon, let alone look it in the eyes. Jack never thought it would come to this, never in all of his immortal existence. The emotional turmoil was unbearable. His intentions would haunt him for the rest of his days. But he had to do it. He couldn't allow it to go any further.

'You wouldn't shoot me Jack. I know you.' It purred oh-so-softly; seductively dangerous. Jack refused falter; forcing himself not to bolt for the invisible lift.

'Final warning.' It came out cold.

Now Jack really couldn't look into those eyes. Feeling physically sick and tasting vomit at his throat, there was a click as he released the safety mechanism from his Webley Mark IV. There was no going back from here.

'Jack, mate. You don't have to do this. Put the gun down and we'll talk this out.' A strong cockney drawl, with an edge; Owen. The usually casual and devil-may-care medic had a strangely serious and threatening tone to his voice. He was causing Jack to panic; he defied his leader by doing so. Owen had led a mutiny against Jack once; it could easy happen again. Maybe he should kill Owen too? Jack's aim wavered, but no. Owen was clueless. He didn't know what Jack was going through.

'Trust me, I do.' That shut Owen up. Like a slap in to face, it was easy to bring up that old issue. But Jack didn't trust himself.

There was a tug at his hand as Toshiko desperately tried to pull him away. In his peripheral line of vision Jack could see that the Japanese woman was utterly terrified; reduced to a sobbing wreck of a girl by the scene to which she bared witness. With a sharp intake of breath, Jack wished he could feel the same in a futile attempt to replace the confusion and contempt which filled his every pore. He stood his ground and the girl relented, collapsing in a shaking mess of displaced mascara and smeared foundation, in full knowledge of what Jack was about to do.

'Please Jack! Stop!' With all the pathetic force and welsh enunciation she could muster, Gwen Cooper stumbled in front of him. How dare she block his aim! For all her leathers, she looked about as weak as a kitten; easily overwhelmed. Jack struck her with his free hand and she joined Toshiko upon the floor, albeit barely conscious.

'So, _Jack_? You going to do it then? I know you want to.' The figure sneered at him, evidently enjoying every moment of Jack's displeasure.

Jack's finger retracted, moving slowly towards the trigger; millimetre by millimetre, although it seemed like miles. Jack felt like he was at the end of a very long tunnel and this, creature, was blocking the light. He needed that light, yet he faltered. His hesitation did not go unmissed. A flicker of a smirk clearly showed this.

'Aw, does the freak have feelings? Let's think about this then, shall we?' A mocking, babyish voice; it patronised him. 'Does he not want to do it? Is he weak? Is he in love?'

Jack was at breaking point. His heart was pounding; his in tears mingled fear and adrenaline. The moment had come, but he wasn't ready. Jack couldn't stand the pain, not again. Yet he needed this to work; he only had one vital bullet in the gun. It was just the two of them. The death needed to happen. The weight of responsibility thundered through his head and he closed his eyes for a fraction of a second.

'It's been thought about.'

With a silent apology and a flare of emotion, Jack pulled the trigger. The bullet spiralled out to astonished screams, relentlessly tearing through flesh and muscle. As it pierced the heart in a fountain of hot blood, Jack felt his own shatter. Bones breaking with a deafening crack, the murder weapon reached its exit wound.

Simultaneously, there were two thumps upon the ground; as the pale and shaking figure of Captain Jack Harkness collapsed to his knees, the corpse of Ianto Jones lay strewn across the fountain floor.

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**Review if you love me (or hate me). MC. x**


	2. Chapter 2

**Ok guys, here's the first real chapter. The story may get a bit confusing at first, but bear with me because it should all pan out nicely. Oh, and some of it is borderline M-rated, just to give you the heads up. I really enjoyed writing this so I hope you like it. Please read and review. x**

**DISCLAIMER: As always, I own nothing, I regret nothing, and I love everything Torchwood. :) x**

_**The Present.  
**__**Approximately 37 minutes after Time of Death. Deceased Operative: Ianto Jones, aged 26, Caucasian, Torchwood Archivist.**_

Jack was slumped against the wall of one of the lower tunnel corridors, bitterly numb with shock. The remainder of his team awaited his return in the Boardroom, cold and puffy eyed from tears. He owed them an explanation; some kind of solace in their grief. But did he really have one? They needed a leader; they didn't have that anymore. Jack couldn't be that man. He was fragile. He was unstable. He was broken. He had just brutally murdered his lover.

The body was upstairs; removed to the icy, metallic, unyielding autopsy table that so epitomised death. Jack had vaguely overheard them talking about it, though it barely registered. Bloodstained and mauled by the merciless bullet, the corpse had left a corrupted trail, tainting the fountain water red. The body was so pale in comparison.

Jack sighed noisily, the sound startling him as it cut through the silence. He had failed Ianto beyond measure. The spark of hope had been fleeting, but it had seemed so clear what Jack should do. The threat should have brought sanity to the situation, or at least some sense. Jack's actions were irredeemable now. But it wasn't Ianto who Jack had murdered, it couldn't be. It was just wrong. Couldn't the rest see that? Ianto was gone, so Jack couldn't have killed him. It was someone else.

Jack could never look at Ianto now, yet he would never forget him. Jack closed his eyes and tilted his head back until it hit the wall with a dull thump. Pain was irrelevant now; he just couldn't feel it unless it came from his heart, and that seemed ever-present. Now he just remembered and searched.

He searched for their last good memory together. His last true taste of Ianto, when they were alone and happy together in peaceful bliss. Jack needed him so desperately. Not the body upstairs, never. The real Ianto. _His _Ianto.

Scraping the furthest corners of his confused mind, Jack found the memory he was looking for.

His precious Ianto.

_**The Past  
**__**Precisely 08:52:36 AM. Around 38 Hours Prior to Time of Death. Flat near Grangetown, owned by one Ianto Jones. Current Occupants: Captain Jack Harkness and Mr Ianto Jones.**_

Jack Harkness lay in bed, duvet bunched up around his waist to expose his naked yet immaculately toned torso. Beside him, a young man slept in an almost childlike state; curled up tightly in the warmth of Jack's arms, with a soft smile upon his face after a night of passion, as Jack played lightly with his hair. He stirred a little before drawing himself closer to Jack's body, snuggling in and looking every inch as adorable as Jack thought he was.

Ianto Jones; twenty-six years of age, blue-eyed and ever so slightly stocky. An amazing barista, an incredible lover and a survivor. In Jack's eyes he was perfect.

Jack had been watching Ianto sleep since the best part of the early hours of the morning, memorising every square inch of his lover's body. Fearing the concept of sleep himself, it was one of Jack's favourite pastimes. People usually assumed that Jack's precocious and avant-garde attitude to bedroom antics was a result of centuries of experience, and part of it was, but he was a changed man when it came to Ianto. Ianto was different; Jack _knew_ Ianto. Everything, from Ianto's ice-blue irises to his squashy insecurities over stomach fat to exactly how long it took for him to come, had been committed to memory. Ianto wasn't the only one who knew everything, because Jack knew everything about Ianto. Jack knew how to caress him, how to comfort him, and how to have fun with him. Although, there were some things Jack couldn't say, he tried to convey them by other means. Ianto allowed Jack to relax and drop his guard, leaving the 'Captain' façade far behind him. Jack smirked silently to himself; hell, he'd actually been nervous the first time they had made love. Both men craved intimacy, but Jack needed love, and it was why he was so passionate about Ianto. Because, with their jobs, Jack never knew how much time they had left. So Jack savoured every fleeting moment of this thing they had, the thing that he could never admit aloud as love, as if it was the last.

Jack was abruptly shaken from his reverie by a loud snore, followed by a jolt from Ianto's body beneath him.

'Mmff! Jack, why did you wake me?' Ianto awoke bleary eyed, hair tousled and a befuddled expression upon his face that made Jack laugh.

'I didn't, I swear!' If he wasn't so tangled up in the beauty that was a sleepy Ianto, Jack would have put his hands up in surrender. 'You snored and woke yourself.'

'Liar.' Ianto looked mortified at the idea of not obeying proper decorum even whilst sleeping. Ianto grabbed his pillow, and Jack felt a playful thump as it landed on his head. 'I don't snore.'

'I know you don't,' Jack admitted slyly, learning from his encounter with the pillow. 'But I know what you _do_.' Jack's hand slid smoothly down Ianto's chest and crept across his thigh, finding and stroking his target with precision. Ianto visibly stiffened, and let out a small moan before swatting the hand away.

'Jack Harkness, I have just woken up. Get your freezing cold hands away from my penis!' Ianto's face was playful and flustered, but his voice was serious. Jack felt chastened, not to mention a little affronted, but moved his hand away regardless.

Apparently, though, Jack's expression was readable; judging by Ianto's next statement as Jack watched his lover's gorgeous eyes travel to the digital clock on the bedside cabinet and back.

'Stop being childish. We need to get to the Hub.'

'At least give me the chance to warm up.' Never one to surrender so easily, Jack's reply was smooth as he imagined multiple opportunities to get Ianto alone during the day; after all, he was Jack Harkness, and the Archives had become their playground. Jack unleashed his patented megawatt grin because, in spite of what Ianto had said, there was nothing childish about their ample supply of sex toys.

'We are going to be late.'

'Only if I say so. It is one of the many perks of being the boss, you know. Or we could call in sick.'

'Both of us? I don't see how that could work.'

'How? The Rift should be quiet for a while now; they can manage without us.'

'Firstly, you can't die so you don't get sick, and if you do it's about ten minutes worth of manflu and attention seeking until I bring you a coffee. And secondly, it will be obvious to the others what we are doing.'

'At least they'll get the message. How about taking some holiday then, Mr Jones? As your employer and sexual advisor, I thoroughly recommend it.' Jack had been told far too many times that he was an impossible thing; the only difference this morning was that he was a determined impossible thing that wanted more Ianto time. And, even better, he was winning.

Much to Jack's delight, Ianto rolled his eyes and caved in to Jack's desires. 'Fine. Meet me in the shower in ten minutes. And we are going to work, Jack. I am not leaving the Archives anywhere near Owen without protection.'

Receiving a chaste kiss upon the lips, Jack watched as Ianto slid out of bed and headed towards the kitchen; admiring the view of his lover's retreating form. Just because Jack was tender when it came to Ianto, it didn't mean that he entirely relinquished the old Harkness charm. Thoughts of a hot, wet, entirely naked and stunning Ianto filled Jack's head and he bit down on his lip in a half hearted attempt to prevent an impatient self induced orgasm. He already felt deprived of Ianto. Wondering if Ianto could be classed as an addiction, Jack rolled out of bed and stealthily followed Ianto out of the room, planning to pin him against the fridge door with a passionate snog. Well, they could probably finish things up in the shower…

_**The Present.  
**__**Approximately 39 minutes after Time of Death. Deceased Operative: Ianto Jones, aged 26, Caucasian, Torchwood Archivist, Lover. Mental state of Captain Jack Harkness: Unstable.**_

Jack's eyes snapped open, burning and red-rimmed. If they had just stayed at Ianto's, things might not have changed. Jack should have been firmer. Ianto had been overworked; it was easy for things to snap and deteriorate, what with the pressure they had been under. If they had just stayed at Ianto's, he might be still alive.

_Alive_. The word replayed over and over in Jack's mind, becoming warped and deranged. Jack would always be alive; sapping life from others as he watched them fall. Or else put a bullet through their skull. Ianto should have still been alive, but why was Jack shocked; people died just by association with Jack, let alone being involved with him.

But as much as it hurt, Ianto had become a threat, and threats had to be dealt with. It wasn't his Ianto, so why should it matter to Jack? That beautiful man had gone when Jack had first seen the danger in those eyes. It was just a threat. But it wasn't. It was embodied in the man he loved. That changed things. Ianto always changed things.

The Boardroom could wait, everything could wait. He needed to be alone in this dark, dank tunnel, because nothing else mattered. Just for once the world could stand still whilst he didn't. Just for once it could stop all the pain and bring Ianto back. But it never would. Succumbing to his grief, Jack let the tears fall.

**Apologies for Jack's slight OOCishness in this, but to be honest it is how I think anyone would react to what happened. Please review because there is so much more to come. :) MC. x**


	3. Chapter 3

**Right, here's the next bit. This chapter was partly the reason why I wrote a new 'What If?' because it is mainly filler and far too well behaved of me for my liking. I've left a very subtle clue as to when things start to change, and it will get more exciting in the next intallment because of it. It's great if you let me know what your thoughts are on it, so please read and review. x**

**Disclaimer: As the airports say; Nothing to declare here. Shame, because a strip search by Jack Harknesswould be an enlightening and sexy experience. ;) x**

_**The Present.  
**__**Approximately 52 minutes after Time of Death. Location: Torchwood Boardroom. Deceased Operative – Ianto Jones, aged 26, Caucasian, Torchwood Archivist.**_

Gwen had been waiting in the Boardroom for the greater part of an hour, head in her hands on the laminate table, her cheek still smarting from the contact with Jack's fist. Jack. The last she had seen of Jack was a fleeting expression of fear, sorrow, and hatred behind a mask of pain. Then she woke up and discovered Ianto's bloodied remains close to where she lay. And Jack had gone, vanished into the darkest depths of the base. What the fuck had happened? Why did Ianto have to die like that? By Jack's hand nonetheless? All of these questions she needed to understand; it was her job to understand. But she didn't know whether she wanted the answers.

Raising her head slightly, she could view her colleagues through a curtain of hair. Tosh was gaunt and shaking, her usually elegant features a distorted by their ordeal. Owen was restless and barely managing to control himself; pacing the room in an arrhythmic fashion, his movements becoming increasingly more sporadic. They were used to tragedy and mistrust in this job, but this had hit far too close to home, with little explanation. It had reduced them to children, so very far from being their usual unsung heroes. Because none of them could comprehend it.

It came down to just two extraordinary people; people Gwen loved. People so close and so connected that it hurt her to see that bond destroyed. Everything had gone up in flames.

Things had seemed fine when she last saw Jack and Ianto together, before this had happened. No evidence of a relationship crisis. Nothing whatsoever except the usual flirt and happiness. And so the question was posed again. Why?

What had changed?

_**The Past  
**__**Approximately 1:45 PM. Nearing 34 Hours Prior to Time of Death. Hub Main Area, Gwen Cooper's Workstation. Current Occupant: Ms Gwen Cooper.**_

'Look Jack, we are already four hours late. I am sorry, but some of us have actually got jobs that require a lot of thought and work!'

Gwen glanced up as the cogwheel rolled noisily open, complete with claxons, to reveal two of her colleagues. Jack swaggered in with a swish of coat, smirking deviously at what Gwen wouldn't be surprised to be unclean thoughts. A Versace be-suited Ianto followed in his wake, looking slightly more concerned.

'I know, Ianto, I know. It gives me a reason to check up on you, remember?'

Gwen could practically hear Ianto's eyes rolling in their sockets as a flush of red rapidly crept across his face. She smiled to herself; they couldn't have been more obvious if they tried. Well Jack could have been, but her best friend's innuendos were a given so she didn't count that. She watched them flirt with a pang; Gwen would never truly get over her crush on Jack.

'Yes, but a normal boss wouldn't do it so frequently.'

'What can I say? I'm very _thorough_.' With the last word Jack turned around to face Ianto, so Gwen could see nothing except that there was barely an inch between them. But Ianto emitted a small squeak that carried across the cavernous work area, so she could probably guess what Jack was up to. She busied herself in flicking through her paperwork, apparently with her presence still yet to be noticed. When the two men broke apart, half of Ianto's shirt was hanging unceremoniously out of his trousers and he was quickly zipping up his fly.

'That may be so. But you are not being that _thorough_ in my shower again for a long time. The water company is going to have a fit when they see my bill, never mind me!'

'Oh, but you enjoyed it though, didn't you?' Jack had lifted an eyebrow. Gwen could see that he was practically begging for more and coughed loudly before Ianto could melt there and then. Just because Gwen knew what they were up to didn't mean she had to watch. Ianto was looking over at her like a deer under a car headlamp, highly embarrassed upon discovering that they were not the only ones around. He regained his composure surprisingly quickly when he caught her staring. Gwen tutted; it was typical of Ianto, the dark horse in a suit.

'I'll leave you to be the judge of that, sir.' A coy smile flitted across Ianto's expression, before he moved off in the direction of what Gwen hoped was the coffee machine. But not before Jack's hand had connected with a soft whack to Ianto's buttock, causing the younger man to flinch. Again having renewed his composure, Gwen watched Ianto disappear. Jack, meanwhile, flashed a smile at her and bounded over, leaning over the desk with a look of intent interest.

'What have you got for me Gwen?'

Shaking her head in an unsuccessful attempt to clear her mind, Gwen glanced up at Jack and prepared to bullshit her way through whatever it was that she was supposed to be doing. Because, quite frankly, things had been so quiet on the Rift front lately she was struggling to remember what her job was. And it definitely wasn't the game of Minesweeper that currently dominated her monitor, having kept her occupied for the previous hour.

'Ummm…' Gwen drew a blank, more than a little embarrassed. Oops.

Jack sighed dramatically at her reaction as he tried again, but he was still smiling so Gwen knew that she was in the clear. 'The Police reports? Has anything come up that we should know about? Because I swear I'll start inviting aliens through the Rift just for the hell of it if we don't get something soon.'

Ok, this was something Gwen could deal with. Quickly minimising Minesweeper before Jack could notice (apparently it lost its fun when you had actually been blown up by a mine), she brought up the police database. There was a thunk as a coffee mug landed on her workstation; she looked around to thank its source, but he had already vanished on his rounds, judging by Owen's grumbling from the Medical Bay. Ianto would nevertheless remain Gwen's third favourite person in the world, at least until the mug was empty. She refocused her attention to the contents of her screen, scrolling down the bounty of reports with emphasised listlessness.

'Nothing so far except for a couple of weevil sightings near Barry, but no attacks. Other than that, it is pretty dead out there.'

Gwen watched as Jack straightened up, hugging his biceps in evident frustration; she knew he hated the lack of action in the field as much as her, if not more so. They were both far too desperate for the apocalypse.

'Ok then, we'll deal with the weevils later. Keep an eye out for any changes. Have you seen Tosh? I want to see how those negative Rift spike predictions are coming along.'

'Try the firing range. Tosh was working on the software all morning and found nothing. She said something about wanting a break and needing to sharpen her aim.'

Gwen watched as Jack sped away, no doubt picking up some bullets so he could join Tosh in her practice session. Christ, any one of them would kill for the slightest bit of action.

_**The Present.  
**__**Approximately 55 minutes after Time of Death. Location: Torchwood Boardroom. Deceased Operative – Ianto Jones, aged 26, Caucasian, Torchwood Archivist, Colleague. Clarity of the Situation: None.**_

Gwen's thoughts were cut short by the sound of the Boardroom door swishing open, revealing a staggering form which just about resembled the man she called Jack Harkness. His face was gaunt and sallow, almost skeletal, and he had lost all of his usual flare. He refused to meet the two identical glares which Gwen could feel emanating from either side of her. It was obvious how much he had been crying. This wasn't the Jack she knew. This was a broken man.

She watched as Jack opened his mouth with an intake of a sharp, ragged breath, no sound coming out of it other than the whoosh of air filling his lungs; he seemed as though he was trying to say something, but then thought better of it. Instead, Gwen's eyes followed him as he shuffled round the Boardroom table and collapsed in a chair; the one that used to be Ianto's. She knew that Tosh and Owen were doing the same as her; analysing the situation, expectant. Now was the time for answers.

Gwen knew this wasn't going to be pleasant, nor was it meant to be, but at least Jack was giving Ianto's memory some dignity by explaining things to them. In the honest truth, Gwen wanted to drive home to Rhys and cry until she could no longer think straight, because that was how she coped. But instead she sat here in a razor-sharp awkward silence, waiting to be told the most twisted fairytale of them all; the tale of how Jack Harkness had murdered his lover and their friend. There was a hoarse sound as Jack cleared his throat and three heads snapped to attention. Then in a low and timid voice, Jack began to talk. And Gwen was horrified enough to listen.

**The review monster is hungry. Please feed her. :) MC. x**


	4. Chapter 4

**Sorry for the late update, but I've been ill and the muse got bubonic plague as result. All better now though, and one very long chapter for you guys. This story has only got about five chapters left in it at the most, not only because I want to keep it tight and have some plans drawn up for a kickass co-universe with Tacroy, but also for a killer plot ending. Anyway, enjoy this chapter - I've dropped some H-bomb sized hints in here, by the way. As always, read and review. It makes me feel loved. :) x**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own anything except the air that the characters breathe, because we all know that it is the fans keep Torchwood alive. x**

_**The Present.  
**__**Approximately 2 hours 30 minutes after Time of Death. Location: Cardiff Streets. Deceased Operative – Ianto Jones, aged 26, Caucasian, Torchwood Archivist, Lover, Confidante. Mental State of Captain Jack Harkness: Beyond Guilty.**_

He had practically fled the Boardroom, not wanting to see the disappointment in their eyes. It sickened them, he could tell, because it was something that they couldn't possibly understand. They would never know the full extent of the choices that he was forced to make. The choices that would save humanity, although they sliced into his personal emotional core. That was evident from their expressions whenever he did something for the greater good. They would never delve beyond the surface of the problem, not even to look at how much it stung his heart, but there was a word for what he had done by leaving them. It was called cowardice.

Jack raced down Lloyd George Avenue, his heavy footfalls polluting the dense Cardiff night; head pounding, wracking sobs and shaky breaths masking all other sounds. He would never stop running, so long as the grief howled inside him for everything he had ever loved and lost. It would do Jack no good to stay with Torchwood, not now.

He had seen the corpse before he left, really took his executed lover in. It was the same man, with the same stunning face, yet it was still different. Jack knew of what lay within, gripping a chokehold over Ianto Jones' heart and twisting his soul until he became manipulative and cruel. There had been no fight and little struggle. There was just a change of heart which was entirely Jack's fault.

Ianto would have understood. He would have quibbled the reason initially, demanding the full facts, but would have stood by Jack's judgement. He _had_ stood by Jack's judgement, no matter what. Because that was Jack's Ianto. Ianto could see the bigger picture clearer than the others; coming the closest to truly having knowledge of who Jack was and what he knew. In turn, Jack knew that Ianto held secrets, but Jack never pried as long as he could rely on Ianto to do the same for him in return. There was trust thrown in with the love, however unrequited their relationship may have been, because they each had had faith in the other's judgement. It had lasted until the end. Except that Jack had judged wrong; everything that Ianto was seemed long dead.

Jack would die of exhaustion before he stopped running, and even then he would revive to pick himself up and keep on going. He despised himself now for eternity, for being the coward that he so evidently was. It all had been broken when Ianto fell like a puppet cut from his strings. Jack hated life; he just couldn't do it anymore. Not without Ianto to hold him back. To love him and to ground him. Jack would run until he could no longer think straight. Because thinking hurt. He no longer cared what the world thought of him, so why should he think of it? Jack had lost so much in so few hours, and no one understood because the one who would have done was now forever unreachable. Ianto was in the one place that Jack could never stay, and it was dark and cold. Jack would welcome the relief of insanity, if only to spare that thought. At least insanity was peaceful. It was the only place where Jack could take refuge.

Hollow from untamed misery, the lone husk of a man would vanish from existence.

_**The Past  
**__**Approximately 10:26 PM. Less than 27 Hours Prior to Time of Death. Location: Barry Island. Torchwood Operatives Present: Captain Jack Harkness, Mr Ianto Jones, Doctor Owen Harper. Area: Devoid of Civilians, No Casualties, Threat Remains. Bodily Adrenaline Levels of Captain Jack Harkness: High.**_

Jack smirked to himself as they hit another crossroads in the enigmatic labyrinth of Barry Island's backstreets; happily out of breath and gun in hand, he could have sworn that the weevils were getting smarter. They had been chasing three of them for the best part of an hour since locating the aliens in a seafront chip shop and hadn't stopped since. Weevils just were not allowed to be this good at evading capture; Jack had met some guys like that in his time, but this was bordering upon just plain unfair. It was a mark of the team's personal fitness and training that they hadn't given up yet plus, as Ianto so casually deadpanned through the comms, the mountainous piles of crap and junk food that was supplied readily to them at the Hub to keep Torchwood going. Jack often likened his team to a well oiled machine; albeit an unhealthy and dysfunctional one that apparently was out of practice when it came to hunting weevils. Still, it made a pleasant change, and these three were keeping them occupied. For once.

Ianto skidded to a halt beside Jack, narrowly avoiding a brick wall, with an enquiring look upon his face. The fluent stream of ever-louder profanities and curses that followed was a sure sign that Owen was fast bringing up the rear.

'Bollocks! These are fast!' The grumbling medic staggered up on Jack's left side, clutching his ribs in oxygen-deprived agony, snipe at the ready, as Jack's grin widened. 'And don't you even think about putting me through that obstacle course again, Harkness. I still have scars from last time!'

'Maybe we should start a Secondary Physical Education scheme?' Ianto shot back from Jack's opposite side. 'Given your mental age, I think you would fit in well with the kids at St Jude's High School. I hear that they are very good on discipline in sports.'

'I though that would be more of your scene, Teaboy. Big, burly guys hitting you from behind.' Owen looked decidedly smug as Ianto turned a violent shade of red. Sensing a worsening conflict, Jack grasped the chance to intervene before Ianto could retaliate, namely by thrusting the word 'decaf' into the equation. He needed the two of them to be focused right now.

'Okay, guys! Look's like we split up from here. Usual rules apply; don't take them on directly, don't get too close, only kill if you have too. Call in when you've subdued them and meet back at the SUV. Deal?' There was a mutter of consent from both other men as Jack switched casually into leadership mode. 'Ianto – take the road ahead.' There was a curt nod from his right as Ianto ran forward. 'Owen – take the right. I'll go left.' Jack watched as Owen fumbled for his spray canister, before speeding around his own corner with a rush of wind that flitted through his coat.

There was little sign of any of the weevils occupying any the dark corners of the dirty backstreets, but Jack jogged along, sense on full alert just in case. Every movement or sound was worth a pause, just in case. But the atmosphere had become abruptly and alarmingly silent. Jack knew that this was wrong; even the stealthiest of creatures will rustle, and even buildings could creak. The silence was unnerving. It was too quiet.

Jack reached the comparatively open expanse of the main street, his gaze sweeping the area, to receive the same unwelcome reception. The road was abandoned except for a few parked cars, and no buzz of activity or pings of success echoed from the arcades and amusement park. Barry Island seemed empty; even the rushing of the sea was muted so that the town seemed far from coastal, and Jack couldn't see anyone else for miles. It started to rain heavily, cool and wet upon Jack's skin, although the drops were soundless as they trickled from his hair and heavy coat to the concrete floor. Things were beyond suspicious and it was with somewhat a large portion of confusion that Jack tapped his commlink.

'Owen? Ianto? Anything to report? And literally, I mean anything.'

'Nah, mate. Things are pretty much dead from here to the estate. At least no one seems to be around to get hurt. Lost the weevil anyway.'

'They don't appear to have returned to the sewers; the manholes are secure and there isn't the usual trail of faeces. Although there isn't any sign of the weevils being anywhere else either. We'll keep looking though, Jack.'

'Yeah, at the first sign of a half eaten shit, I'll let you know.'

'Fine, but I want both of you on full alert. Spray away and guns out, because there is definitely something going on here that I don't like. Deal with the weevils if you find them but they are no longer priority. Find out what has happened first. Oh, and Ianto?'

'Yes?'

'I told you things would have been better at your place.'

'Yes, although you also said that things would be quiet. I suggest that you stop talking now before you jinx anything else, Sir. Such as the measuring tape and your chances later.'

'You know it doesn't lie, Ianto, and I'm pretty certain of what's gonna happen later.'

'Okay, Teaboy, Harkness; far too much information. Let's just work out whatever the fuck has gone on and get out of here.' There were two clicks and a hiss of static in Jack's ear as both Owen and Ianto signed out.

Jack sighed and pulled back his sleeve, punching a few digits into his Vortex Manipulator. Apparently the 'dead' situation encompassed at least a third of the area, with a distinct universal lack of living organisms, although they were still in the dark as to why. They needed readings from the Hub. Maybe the Rift Monitor could shed some light on things. Striding towards the amusement park gates, he pulled out his mobile.

'Tosh? What the hell his happening here? It's not just the weevils; _everyone_ has gone missing but the three of us. What's the Rift doing?'

'Give me a moment.'

Tosh's voice crackled in the receiver and Jack was relieved. It was proof that life existed outside of Barry Island, rather than an impending major apocalypse for the world over. He could just about make out a staccato of tapping as the Japanese woman's hands whirred across her workstation keyboard, prepared as always for technological scavenging of the highest intelligence. Tosh really was Torchwood's biggest asset, even if she was too modest to credit herself for it, and pride emanated from Jack at that thought.

'Jack? The system has gone haywire!'

'Can you get anything from it?'

'It will take me five minutes to get anything discernable, but yes. I need to slow the readings down first and crack the codes.'

'Fine. Work quickly and stay on the line. I want results immediately as you get them.'

'Okay; I'm working as fast as I can.'

Jack pocketed his phone loosely after placing Tosh on loudspeaker. Wandering close to the dilapidated funhouse, he noticed a figure in a crumpled heap about fifty metres parallel to his position. Something that had recently been living, and was severely leaking dark, viscous immiscible fluid into the puddles of rainwater. Gun raised to encompass any threat from the surrounding area, he quickly edged closer to the body. It was one of the weevils; torn savagely in half to leave a sick scattering of entrails discarded across a fairground stall. The sight made Jack flinch in empathetic pain and revulsion. It took an enormous amount of power, tact, and sheer strength to take down a fully grown weevil, let alone murder one. Jack bent down to investigate closer; it had been bisection, achieved seemly with the bare hands of the perpetrator, because the wounds were too jagged to have been a clean murder weapon. And that meant that whatever they were up against was vicious and remorseless. Most definitely a product of the Rift, though there were a million possibilities as to which species it was, racing through Jack's head. They needed to put a stop to it before it could find human victims or spread out any further. Because whatever could do this meant trouble.

'Jack! You guys have got to get out of there now!' Tosh's voice rang loud and panicked from Jack's pocket as he snatched up the phone.

'What is it Tosh?'

'I'm tracking a huge Rift storm over the island. It is powerful and unpredictable. I have no idea what it could do next; it could suck you in or anything could come out! It's strongest in the town centre, but it is spreading. You need to play it safe and get out!' Jack heard the concern in Toshiko's voice and immediately understood the severity of the situation. Rift storms could be lethal at the worst of times, but on that scale it posed a serious threat. The increasingly heavy rain should have been a giveaway, but unpredictable weather was the least of Jack's worries, having spent a century in Wales. A minor storm always brought dangerous and psychotic species through the Rift; what a giant opening could vomit upon Barry Island was unimaginable. He needed to get Ianto and Owen out. Now.

Abandoning the corpse, he turned and sped out of the amusement park gates, finger on his earpiece.

'Ianto, Owen – back to the SUV now! Major Rift storm! I'll explain later!'

A hiss of static stopped Jack dead in his tracks, imagining the worst.

'Ianto? Owen? Report!'

Relief flooded through Jack as he heard someone's comms come online. It didn't last for long.

'Jack, we've got a problem. I've just found Ianto.' The medic's tone was grave.

'And?' Jack asked tentatively, holding his breath.

'He's unconscious.'

'Where are you?' Jack was panicking; if the thing that killed the weevil was internally parasitic, it could have got Ianto too. He had no idea how fast it could travel.

'End of Victoria Road, just off the high street.'

'Right.' Jack signed of with finality as the rain soaked through to his skin, although he didn't care. His pace quickened to a full sprint as his heart pushed blood forcefully through his veins. He prayed that Ianto was okay as he searched for the area that Owen had specified. Jack turned a corner and saw them; one shape kneeing and working quickly, the other on the floor and unmoving, forever getting closer and his pale features becoming more and more detailed. Ianto. Jack slammed to a halt beside them, dropping to his knees. He barely noticed the roughly cauterised half of a weevil, ten feet from where his lover lay.

'What happened?'

Owen glanced up, his eyes barely leaving his patient. 'I dunno; neither of us could contact you, but the weevils we were trailing had been murdered so we were going to regroup and go from there. I found Ianto here in what could best be described as a state of epileptic fit. He stopped moving two minutes ago, and is barely breathing.'

Jack was at a loss for words, but one thought continually circulated in his mind. _Please don't go Ianto. I need you._ He hauled Ianto's form onto his lap and cradled him in his arms. Jack felt for pulse, even though Owen had already done so, just because it comforted him. It was fainter than it should have been, but there. Proof to Jack that Ianto was still alive. But Ianto still wasn't awake. Jack needed to fix that. He repositioned himself so he had a clear view of Ianto's pale but relaxed face.

'Jack! Let me work!'

Ignoring Owen's protests, Jack bent down and brushed Ianto's lips with his own. Ianto began to stir and Jack deepened the kiss, exploring every inch of Ianto's growingly responsive mouth. Jack withdrew slowly as he watched Ianto's eyes open; feeling relieved and incredibly pleased with himself in equal measures. Ianto groaned mumbling sleepily.

'May I remind you, Jack Harkness, that I am not Sleeping Fucking Beauty!'

Jack laughed, too overwhelmed to take in Ianto's unusual choice of words. Or the coldness in his eyes. Or the awkward way he moved when he sat up.

Nor the fact that, as soon as Ianto awoke, the rain had stopped.

_**The Present.  
**__**Approximately 2 hours 30 minutes after Time of Death. Location: Cardiff Streets. Deceased Operative – Ianto Jones, aged 26, Caucasian, Torchwood Archivist, Lover, Confidante. Mental Stability of Captain Jack Harkness: Just Don't Even Ask.**_

Jack was barely aware of his location, not that it mattered. What did matter was that everything that had happened was irrefutably his fault. Everything was always his fault. Even if it wasn't. Jack's failures always led to destruction and, this time, it was by his hand. Hardly surprising, really, because it had been coming in one form or another for a long time. Jack was just some sick ironic Grim Reaper that always ended up taking the people he cared about most.

Ianto was an accident, but then again he wasn't. Jack's lack of perceptiveness wasn't an accident; it was insolent and bloody-minded stupidity. If he had noticed the small changes earlier, maybe there could have been another way. Because the bullet slicing through Ianto's brain certainly wasn't an accident. It was Jack leaving things too late, because that's what Jack always did.

He slowed his pace as he diverged into some fuzzy Welsh-named side road. Jack. Harkness. Jack _fucking_ Harkness. The reluctant immortal who so readily served up death to others. It was quite laughable really. Everything that they did to Jack had not one ounce of finality – even the Daleks didn't work anymore – but a single shot was enough for Ianto, even if Jack's Ianto was long dead before that. The body bled out, the CNS vanished, and that was it. Bam! Into the never ending darkness. There was no second chance; no reprieve. It was an eternity of death for Ianto and a paradox of life for Jack. Ianto was now in the one place where Jack could never truly return to because, every time Jack tried, he was dragged kicking and screaming out into the light. Jack could never feel Ianto's warm lips upon his own, or have Ianto writhing in pleasure inside him, again. It was beyond unfair, and settled somewhere in the region of painful. Jack had left a hole in Ianto's head to match the one in his own heart.

A fleeting and dangerous idea whispered into Jack's ear, forcing a mirthless smile. He needed fix things. He needed to see Ianto again. Jack turned abruptly and fled in the opposite direction. Mortality was the issue between them; his own invulnerability. In the cogs of his increasingly deranged mind, Jack formed a plan.

**1,2,3,4 - let me see some reviews if you want some more! :) MC. x**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hey guys. Sorry for the (very) late update again, but I promise there is a good reason behind it. Plus you get a nice long chapter too for your trouble. :) Reading is great, but reviewing is even better lol. x**

**DISCLAIMER: Please can I just own something? Anything? No? Oh. x**

_**The Present.  
Approximately 2 hours 30 minutes after Time of Death. Location: Torchwood Hub, Medical Bay/Autopsy Room. Deceased Operative – Ianto Jones, aged 26, Caucasian, Torchwood Archivist, Colleague.**_

This was shit. No; it was beyond shit. The shit in shit's creek had burst through shit's dam and left Torchwood drowning in overflowing shit. And now Owen was forced to contemplate one of the most unwelcome autopsies of his career, least of all because of the circumstances of the death. And it was because of whom the body belonged to. Even just the concept was completely fucked up.

He disinfected his blades and scalpels as procedure dictated, slowly and with distraction, with a mental mantra of incisions and chemical analysis; anything to put the moment where he sliced gently in a Y-shape from the sternum, peeling back the soft flesh, off. Owen glanced ruefully over at his work table and the occupant that lay upon the cold steel. He had began to undress Ianto around an hour ago, meaning to do the autopsy whilst the body was still lukewarm, but couldn't face it and left for the Boardroom despairingly and partially enraged. Owen had been fuming at Jack's display of undeserved brutality; the coldness of the unfolding scene, occurring dramatically in the middle of the Hub for all to see. The blood was still spattered across the floor, and Ianto most certainly wasn't able to clean it up this time. No one else would clean up the shit, because that was Ianto's job.

Owen hadn't known all the facts then, and now that he did he still doubted Jack's judgement. The Captain would always shoot first and ask questions later, as sure as he would shag anything with a hole. Admittedly there had been something different about Ianto beyond the absence of good coffee, but everyone had off days so Owen didn't bother himself too much by noticing until the end. As a Doctor, it was Owen's role to preserve life whatever happened. Jack could have found another way.

But no; Jack had shot, Jack had hid, Jack had quietly explained, and Jack had fucked off to God knows where. And Owen was left to deal with both two semi-hysterical women and a corpse. He moved closer to the table with his saw and placed his hands upon the surface, gazing down at Ianto's slack features deep in thought. Surely things hadn't been so bad that a better solution couldn't have been found? What had Ianto said to make Jack snap? The situation had been dealt with in the wrong way, and Owen had failed to take things seriously until the very end. He had failed to ask the questions that could have helped Ianto; the ones that made Owen stay true to his profession and try to eliminate the problem. All of them had, really.

As Owen methodically traced a bluish outline of a vein that ran down Ianto's exposed chest, picking up his instruments with apprehension, he paused. Owen was doing this because neither of the others knew how. It didn't mean that he enjoyed it. It didn't mean that he wanted to. Mentally, Owen apologised to Ianto.

_**The Past  
Exactly 1:55:43 AM. Exactly 22 Hours Prior to Time of Death. Location: Torchwood Hub, Medical Bay/Autopsy Room. Medical Officer Present: Doctor Owen Harper. Patient: Mr Ianto Jones. Patient Requires Standard Medical Analysis. Potential Injuries Sustained in the Field.**_

'Quit squirming, Teaboy, or I _will_ sedate you!'

'Piss off Harper!'

Owen sighed melodramatically. The usually calm and socially conformant patient that comprised Ianto Jones had faded away with the progress of the examination to be replaced by an insufferable, loudmouthed fidget. Owen suspected that brain damage from the impact of the fall had given rise to Ianto's new phobia, but the medic had almost given up on the scans and x-rays. Now Owen was being forced to dance around Ianto in a vain attempt to gain a blood sample.

'Look, it doesn't hurt that much, you know. I would say that it's only a small prick but frankly you've been shagging a large one for the past six months at least.'

Ianto muttered something in sharp, husky tones that Owen assumed was Welsh. Owen wasn't sure; he could never be bothered to learn any of the language. But it was still nice to know whether he was being insulted or not.

'What was that, Teaboy?'

Ianto looked startled, as though he had been caught doing something that he really shouldn't have done, or could barely remember doing. Again, Owen noted, signs of brain trauma. But Ianto's tone was far too aggressive.

'I said; like it is any of your business.'

'Calm down. My work area, my rules. I get to say what I want down here. I would say that the same applies to you and Captain Shagsalot Scarlet, but apparently anything goes with you guys.'

Ianto fell silent and still, as though momentarily at a loss for words. Owen took the opportunity to slide the needle into his patient's forearm. He was halfway through withdrawing the sample when a fist connected with his jaw, knocking him off balance. He glanced up and saw Ianto flushed with anger, his eyes cold with fury.

'Jesus! What the fuck did you do that for?'

Owen watched as Ianto more or less bared his teeth, seething, and spoke in a low voice.

'You do not touch me. Stay away.'

Owen scrambled to his feet and retrieved his sample; it would be enough anyway for what he needed. As he closed the gap between himself and Ianto and prepared to retaliate, Owen heard the hurried clanking steps on the metal walkway that signalled Jack's arrival in the room. Owen moved away from Ianto and faced Jack, who looked both concerned and amused at the same time.

'What's going on down here? Is everything alright? Ianto?' Jack's gaze flitted down to Owen's newly forming bruise with a smirk. 'Owen, what did you do?'

'Nothin' Jack, other than the usual.'

'Teasing until Ianto snaps?'

'Um, yeah. Like I said to him; my work area, my rules.'

'I've got to love your professionalism sometimes, Owen.' Jack's sarcasm was light as he turned to Ianto. 'You okay?'

As Ianto nodded, Owen felt a twinge of annoyance.

'Oh, so never mind the guy that has just been punched, then. Just thinking about the sex as always, Harkness.'

Jack's eyes seemed to sparkle with possibilities as he replied. 'Of course. Who wouldn't want a piece of this?' He made a sweeping gesture that encompassed the Harkness ego. Owen felt slightly ill at the prospect; unlike some, he had standards, as blurry as they may be.

'Me. And before you even go there, Ianto is off limits tonight as well. I need to do a blood analysis as I couldn't get any scans, but as far as I can tell he's got a minor case of brain damage, coupled with fatigue and dehydration, which means that his moods will be inconsistent for the next few hours. He needs a glucose supplement, rest and recuperation during that time; not a rampant night's sex to satiate your multiple erections. Doctor's orders.'

Owen had to laugh wryly as Jack pouted, then conceded to Owen's point. 'Fine. Ianto, I'll drive you home.'

Jack jerked his head in a beckoning gesture to Ianto, who ascended the stairs and moved out of sight, having been distant and glassy eyed throughout the whole exchange. Owen reminded himself to check on Ianto tomorrow; he really was going from one extreme to another at the moment, but the damage can't have been that bad. Maybe the Teaboy was just pissed off? Owen needed the blood-works either way. Jack coughed and turned back to Owen with authority in his expression. They walked out of the autopsy room together and into the main Hub.

'I've sent the girls home already for a few hours. Gwen's got most of tomorrow off – something about her cousin's naming ceremony – but the rest of us are working on the cause of that Rift storm and what the hell might have come out of it.'

'Why can't I have the day off?'

'Because we only have one doctor and you don't have relative to be named. I'll give you next week's one, Rift permitting.'

'Spoilsport. Last time you said that the world nearly ended, again. I'm guessing that you want the autopsies done on the weevils we brought in?'

'Yes, but they are all pretty similar so you can just do as much as you think is necessary for your report. But those can wait until tomorrow. Right now I want you out of here before I change my mind.'

Jack ran off in the direction of the SUV garage, calling for Ianto, without so much as a farewell. Owen didn't care if he was honest; right now he was concentrating on snatching up his jacket and heading home before he slept where he stood. Although he couldn't quite shake the feeling that something wasn't quite right, he was far too tired for it to bug him.

_**The Past  
Exactly 3:55:43 PM. Exactly 9 Hours Prior to Time of Death. Location: Torchwood Hub, Medical Bay/Autopsy Room. Medical Officer Present: Doctor Owen Harper. Presiding Over the Autopsy of Species Designation 983487612 (Weevil): Precise Cause of Death yet to be Determined.**_

Owen was puzzled. There was no other word for it, but he was curiously completely and utterly stumped. This, he admitted quietly to himself, couldn't be a very good thing. After having run every test possible and combing through every inch of the weevil's remains for the past four hours, his results were nothing less than odd. It wasn't uncommon for this to happen in Torchwood, but it nevertheless sucked.

There were fewer antibodies in the weevil's blood than average, displaying a complete lack of infection or virus; this was different in itself as weevils always had an acute alien form of rabies built into their pituitary glands as a defence mechanism, but were also prone to the disease themselves. This one appeared to be completely healthy. There were no indications of cuts or incisions on either half of the body, yet it had apparently been sliced in two. The skull was completely shattered; no being could do that without exerting serious force and possibly damage to themselves. Owen had to use a diamond edged laser saw just to dissect the brain usually, although this weevil's brain seemed to have imploded spontaneously – possibly high pressure upon the skull? Owen couldn't be sure; brain scans were now impossible to do as a result, and an x-ray would give him nothing other than what he already knew. And that still wouldn't explain the fact that the gums were still weeping blood and the seared remains of nasal tissue, because he was pretty sure that the alien hadn't been sniffing solvents before it died. Owen's original prognosis had been homicide, because the weevil had clearly been ripped clean apart in the same way as the other two he had examined; now he wasn't sure even how or whether it could have been possible. Not with these wounds.

He had sauntered into the Hub relatively early (well, early for Owen because he had a feeling that Jack was becoming annoyed with the amount of hangovers Owen was having lately) so that he could get this bloody thing over with and stand a chance of going clubbing like a normal bloke. Owen also knew that the chances were that Ianto would be in before the others and the main side effects of brain trauma should have worn off, allowing the medic to perform a discreet check-up without the need for restraints and anaesthesia. But the Teaboy was nowhere to be seen – the Hub was empty of everyone other than a pacing Captain Jack Harkness, who seemed to alternate between wandering around looking sheepish and glaring at Owen for sitting idly at his workstation in equal measure. Something told Owen that, not only Jack had not stuck to his promise of no sex of his own accord, but also that it was likely that the coffee would be decaffeinated. If Ianto ever turned up to work.

Wary of being under scrutiny, Owen had quickly moved down to the autopsy room as he waited for the others to enter the Hub and redirect Jack's attention away from himself. Half an hour later, he was defrosting a weevil body that had been in cold storage over night and the pneumatics of the invisible lift sounded. Tosh had returned from investigating a minor Rift spike, as she had called down to him, and left a Starbucks coffee on his desk. Which meant that Ianto wouldn't be around for a while, because it was a dangerous gesture if he was coming into work soon. With the aid of retail caffeine, Owen could begin his job in earnest.

Now, several hours and many contraband coffees later, Owen was at the end of his professional tether. The fact that his feedback was currently inconclusive meant that he needed to talk to Jack, but the vibes in the Hub today had been so negative that Owen was reluctant to go near Jack's office, let alone interrupt his thoughtful prowling. Ianto still wasn't around and Tosh kept working in whispers with her head bowed almost subserviently over her calculations. Even when Gwen had bounced in, her smile had faded mid-sentence. Why was it, Owen questioned, that when the Teaboy and the Captain fought everyone else had to be miserable? Selfish bastards. It was time to end it and report his lack of findings. Then bollock Jack for whatever he had done in the space between last night and now.

As he ascended the stairs and twisted his way around the multiple workstations to Jack's office, Owen startled as the door klaxon cut through the silence. Three other pairs of eyes noticeably looked the figure at the door up and down thoroughly, at least twice with confusion. Ianto Jones stood slightly lopsided in an ill-fitting faux leather jacket and ripped jeans, dark rings of fatigue around his indifferent eyes and matching stubble enveloping the hard line of his jaw. With complete indifference to those around him, Ianto slunk past Owen in the direction of the morgue. Owen noted Jack watching from his office doorway, with a look that seemed to be nothing short of concern. Gwen looked as though she was about to speak, but Owen jerked his head slightly to keep her quiet. Jack didn't move, so Owen followed Ianto through to the lower levels.

'Ianto? You alright mate?' Owen was concerned; things were starting to look really shit, even without the alien crap lying around at the moment. 'Listen, I really need to do a follow up on you. Jack's insisting and we need to make sure there is no permanent damage.' He caught up with Ianto and grabbed his colleague's arm, looking into his eyes. They were cold and reckless.

'I told you; don't you dare come any-fucking-where near me, Harper. Final warning.' Ianto wrenched away as Owen slackened his grip in surprise. There was an overwhelming sense of threat in that tone. Owen wouldn't follow when Ianto moved away, but the medic did note Jack's absence when he returned to the main area.

Back in the autopsy bay, Owen entered a further weevil blood sample into both the gas and liquid spectrometers to be inspected in a few hours time. As an afterthought, he entered Ianto's too.

_**The Past  
Exactly 9:55:43 PM. 2 Hours Prior to Time of Death. Location: Torchwood Hub, Medical Bay/Autopsy Room. Medical Officer Present: Doctor Owen Harper. Presiding Over the Autopsy of Species Designation 983487612 (Weevil): Awaiting Final Results.**_

Owen's head snapped up as a piercing shriek echoed down through the Hub, springing to his feet as the sound cut through him like cheese wire. Abandoning his work and ignoring the impending statistics and answers that flashed impatiently on his laptop screen, he sprinted to find the source. The noise had been made by Tosh.

Owen looked around before freezing in shock. Tosh was being dangled by the throat; slammed violently against the station wall. She was red in the face with a trapped supply of deoxygenated blood in the brain, her eyes bulging as she struggled valiantly to breathe.

As the fingers tightened around Toshiko's delicate neck, Owen knew that Ianto was going in for the kill.

_**The Present.  
Approximately 2 hours 36 minutes after Time of Death. Location: Torchwood Hub, Medical Bay/Autopsy Room. Deceased Operative – Ianto Jones, aged 26, Caucasian, Torchwood Archivist, Colleague, Verbal Sparring Partner.**_

Owen rubbed his eyes; over two minutes into the official autopsy time and he was yet to make a mark on Ianto. Owen needed to clear his head of the minor details before he even touched the body, and his train of thought wasn't helping. He put down the scalpel and opened his laptop. There was the evidence, as plain as day, which had gone unnoticed until it was too late. Did it still exist in Ianto's blood? Was it still destructive and dangerous? All of these questions could be answered with an autopsy, but now wasn't the time to do it. Clearing the screen, Owen moved to put his instruments away, shaking his head at his own lack of resolve.

A blade nicked the tip of his finger with a miniature stab of pain; it blossomed into a small bead of blood that trickled off, falling upon Ianto's lifeless open lips.

'Shit!' Owen swore as he sucked upon his finger, fumbling in his supplies for a bandage. He moved the table over to the cryogenic unit and placed Ianto inside. Preserved, it could be dealt with later, when things had died down.

Looking back and feeling deflated as a succession of beeps indicated that the body was frozen; Owen resolved that, just this once, he'd be the one to scrub the bloodstains from the fountain floor.

**Come on, review. You know you want to. :) MC. x**


	6. Chapter 6

**Well, it looks like I'm gonna have to make these updates mostly a fortnightly thing - my life has been took over by an absolutely demonic amount of coursework, so the fics have to kinda come second at the moment. :/ But hey, here's the new chapter to sweeten things up a bit. Whatever you think of it, please review. all comments are appreciated, if notloved. :) x**

**DISCLAIMER: I own everything except the rights to Torchwood, which kinda sucks. Oh and if anyone is wondering what the new audiobooks are like, they are absolutely killer. Buy them now! :) x**

_**The Present.  
Approximately 3 hours 2 minutes after Time of Death. Location: Unknown Tower Block. Deceased Operative – Ianto Jones, aged 26, Caucasian, Torchwood Archivist, Lover, Sanity.**_

Faster, faster, forever faster. Speed increasing, his heart racing, his legs burning; it was vital that he reached the top. He needed this to end. He needed to be put right.

Round and round he went; pitter-patter, stomp, stomp. Left foot striding before right, every step on this goddamned staircase marked his resolve. Jack didn't belong on this planet; it was for humans, or sentient beings who understood the concept of humanity. Jack was an anomaly; something so abnormal that he could no longer be hidden. What he had in mind would try to fix that, permanently.

Floor, after floor, after floor, a single thought was branded upon Jack's mind. Goodbye immortality; hello Ianto.

_**The Past  
Exactly 3:55:43 PM. Exactly 9 Hours Prior to Time of Death. Location: Torchwood Hub, Office. Occupant: Captain Jack Harkness. Atmosphere: Tense.**_

It had taken Jack the past four hours to admit to himself that he was sulking. Things hadn't gone well after he had taken Ianto home; Ianto had been silent for the entire journey, in spite of Jack's enquiries as to whether he was okay, and was constantly shifting his position or toying with the seatbelt. It had been like Ianto was uncomfortable in his own body, clumsily exploring his hands and face with all the distaste of someone handling rotting flesh. Jack was going to let it slide supposedly unnoticed, but when they had got to Ianto's flat something was seriously wrong. Ianto became cold and indifferent and, when Jack lent in to kiss him, treated Jack like a sexual predator. Jack had unceremoniously been shoved out of the apartment and into the night. To say that he was decidedly miffed was an understatement, because Jack couldn't work out what he had done wrong. He had intended to listen to Owen's advice this time; with the fear of losing Ianto barely subsiding from today's Rift storm, Jack was just content to hold his lover close for once. Instead, he was left feeling rejected and brooding over why things had changed since this morning. He had spent the night on a roof.

Several hours and miles of Jack's office prowling later, Jack had not so much as had a text message as to Ianto's whereabouts, let alone an explanation for last night's episode. Ianto could have at least turned up by now; Jack had tried the flat earlier to no avail, and it didn't seem that Ianto had slept at all last night. And the only conclusion that Jack could reach was that Ianto had picked the wrong time to be angry. Three dead weevils and a potentially unknown entity had been spat out of the Rift, and Ianto was choosing now to express his feelings towards something that Jack might have or have not done. Jack had used his override controls to view the weevil autopsy files on Owen's laptop which were, contrary to the medic's opinion, conclusive enough to gauge the danger of the situation. There were about five hundred different known species across three galaxies which could inflict any combination of those wounds, but they still couldn't do anything until they knew which one. Especially as Jack knew that none of them responded well to cross-species sedatives and that some of them could incorporate bullets into their defence system. There was something lethal out there, and Ianto had run off. There was utter stupidity in Ianto's actions, but that was possibly the least of Jack's concerns. Jack's fears lay behind the fact that it was so unlike Ianto. He hadn't been like this since Lisa, and Jack knew that there was only so much Ianto could hold back before he cracked. That prospect terrified Jack more than anything else.

The door klaxon sounded and Jack snapped to attention. Only six people in the entire world knew all of the access codes to get down to this level of the Hub; four of them were already down here and one was working for UNIT in London. It had to be Ianto. An explanation would have to have come with him, even if Jack wasn't forgiven for whatever it was. Jack sprang to his feet; it was time to corner Ianto and fix this. The sight that he beheld when he reached the office door almost made his jaw drop in shock. All thoughts of the alien investigation fled from Jack's mind as he took every inch of his dishevelled lover. Jack was frozen by the severity of Ianto's personal situation. The last time Ianto had staggered in this messed up was the first day that Jack had seen him after Lisa; every cell in Jack screamed that something was more than wrong, injured by the fact that he had no idea why Ianto was in this state.

It took Jack a moment to realise that Ianto had moved rather stiffly in the direction of the lower levels, Owen in tow a moment later. When Owen returned, peeved and rejected, Jack sighed deeply. Putting his pride on the proverbial shelf, he slipped silently past the others and followed Ianto through a small, damp side corridor that only they knew about. With no heavy coat to lumber him, Jack thought he was being stealthy as he slid along the wall; the idea dispersed when Ianto jerked round, pinning Jack against the wall. And not in the good way.

'What do you want Jack?' Ianto snapped at him, barely room between them as Jack struggled to keep his attention on the answers he had come to find.

'I want to know what the hell is wrong with you, that's what I want.' Jack kept his voice even and level, trying to exert his natural authority whilst also being wary of having to tread carefully. This was Ianto, after all, who could shut things up like a clam just as much as Jack himself if Jack put a foot out of line.

Surprisingly, Ianto's hard gaze softened after what appeared to be a moment of inner conflict. Previously, he had looked like he could have torn Jack's head off just to see if it would grow back, but now the tension in Ianto's shoulders was abating and he became limp. His eyes looked like a cry for help.

'Nothing, Jack.' Ianto's voice was soft, but Jack could detect hints of pain behind those brilliant blue eyes. 'I'm sorry that I was late, but I will collect some of the minor files and go home like you have previously suggested.' The words sounded almost robotic. Wrong, even. Jack was taken aback. Ianto made to leave; he was more than three metres away before Jack called out to him.

'Look Ianto, just talk to me. What went wrong last night?'

'I do not know what you mean, sir.' Ianto's tone was flat; not indifferent, but entirely devoid of emotion. There was no hint of strain or venom like there usually was when Ianto was upset with Jack. This had to be deep, or else Ianto was hiding something from the team again. Jack closed the gap between them and cupped Ianto's face in his hand. He felt Ianto's entire body stiffen with the contact.

'Oh, I think you do. You are only allowed to be this dishevelled when you've been with me. Tell me what's wrong.' Though his voice was deliberately soft and caring, Jack shaped the words into an order. 'Was it me? What did you see last night to make you change?'

'I saw nothing, sir. Excuse my decorum. I am simply overworked and must leave. Apologies.' That same monotonous manner in which Ianto addressed Jack was actually becoming rather chilling. 'I must leave.' Ianto repeated when Jack tilted his head questioningly and didn't remove the contact between them. 'I will take my work with me.'

Jack knew now that something was more than off with Ianto. Ianto knew and respected protocol regarding everything about Torchwood, but not removing any artefacts from the Hub was one that he pretty much berated Owen for on a near weekly basis. Aside from that, Jack knew when he was being lied to; you didn't survive the Agency's backstabbing treachery without some kind of instinct, not to mention low-level psychic training. Jack still didn't know what was going on, but he was going to be damned if he didn't find out, even if he hated treating Ianto with suspicion. Jack had the power to utilise every form of spy wear and non invasive scans in Torchwood, and he was going to use them all if it mean that it would bring Ianto back from being just a shell. This had to go beyond just the two of them. When he spoke, Jack chose his words carefully.

'Listen, Ianto,' Jack whispered, caressing his lover's cheek. 'I don't want you to leave the Hub. Owen needs to finish up on those tests and I need you here. Just know that, whatever it is, you can tell me.'

Something hot and wet slid down Jack's thumb; Ianto was crying. His eyes glistened as they burned into Jack. It was the first true display of emotion Jack had seen in his lover for the whole time they had been down here, and it hurt.

'Jack, I –' Ianto's voice cracked as he spoke, but what he was trying to say next Jack would never hear. Instead Jack watched as Ianto jolted away, doubled up in pain as he clutched his abdomen. The hiss of anguish that Ianto emitted was almost primal. Jack crouched down beside him, concerned.

'Ianto?'

Ianto's eyes glazed over and he rigidly returned to his feet. The tears had alarmingly vanished, apparently as had the pain. He moved his head with precision as he turned to face Jack, a sickeningly false smile upon his lips.

'Of course. Please excuse the interruption, sir. I will return to my duties presently.'

The shell abruptly turned and walked away silently, leaving Jack alone and disturbed in the dank underground tunnel. Contrary to what he had been trying to achieve, coming down here had just made things over a thousand times worse. Weevil murders were the least of their problems now, because it occurred to Jack that he might have found the Storm creature. That thought was too terrifying to contemplate.

_**The Past  
Exactly 9:55:00 PM. Barely 2 Hours Prior to Time of Death. Location: Torchwood Hub. Resolution of Captain Jack Harkness: Uncertain, Full Knowledge to be Acquired before Decision.**_

Tosh's screams were deafening and raw. They proved everything that Jack didn't want to be true. After analysing and reprocessing the security data and CCTV to achieve the same results the tenth time as had been for the first nine, Jack's conclusion was grim. It had to end here to protect the outside world, but he didn't want to believe it. Things would be so unbearably hard whatever he did. That blood-curdling sound spelled out the danger, but it didn't stop Jack from wishing to God that he was wrong.

As he wrenched Ianto apart from the gasping Toshiko, Jack despaired as he turned his gun on his lover. Ianto smiled at him with pure malice; a gesture for all to see, but Jack was the only one to see the blue irises flash red. It broke Jack's heart to do so, but a decision had to be made. But not yet, because he had to know why. Refusing to look anyone in the eye, least of all the figure in front of him, Jack spoke slowly, training all his effort on keeping his gun arm locked firmly in place.

'My office. Now.'

This was well beyond the time for reasoning, but it didn't mean that Jack wasn't going to try.

_**The Present.  
Approximately 3 hours 7 minutes after Time of Death. Location: Unknown Tower Block. Deceased Operative – Ianto Jones, aged 26, Caucasian, Torchwood Archivist, Lover, **__**Raison d'Etre**__**.**_

Jack hit the freshly stale city air as the rooftop fire door swung open with a resounding clang that echoed in the night. He barely noticed the glitter and sparkle and bustle of night time Cardiff. His desperation for a means to an end clouded everything over until everything was insignificant and hazy, the finer details non-existent. Nothing else mattered as he scanned for the witnesses that would never be there. There was no one among the living to hold him back or tell him to stop. He had often found answers atop this twenty story building; surely he would find peace and happiness falling from it.

Because Jack could be dead; they had proven that before. Except this time nobody would kiss him awake, because he would refuse to revive. Death was needed in the right proportions for it to work and, if he failed this time, he would haul himself back up and try again. Jack snorted to himself. _If at first you don't succeed, try, try again._ Nothing had ever summed Jack up quite so well and yet it was a children's mantra that best described one hundred and fifty years of failure and reluctant immortality. Jack was determined to succeed this time, because every nanosecond on this planet hurt.

He withdrew a hand from his pocket and toyed with a capsulated pill between his fingers. Siliurexian Cyanide; slow acting, yet remaining active in the blood when it had done its job. He placed it on his tongue and closed his eyes as it disintegrated, bitterly cold liquid trickling down his throat before he swallowed in earnest. He moved closer to the ledge.

Next Jack brought out his Webley; antique but efficient. A mirror image of himself. Stripping away the already blood spattered fabric; he pressed it to his chest, fingers curling protectively around the trigger. Jack didn't spare a glance for his surroundings, the city of his immortal years, as he stepped backward onto the edge of the tower in a single fluid motion. Concrete; the impact, the slowest resurrection that Jack longed to never come. Every bone would shatter, his spinal cord would snap at the last moment, and the pain would be incredible. Jack deserved every ounce of it for what he had done. He just hoped that Ianto could forgive him. For everything.

As Jack launched into freefall, his heart burst as a bullet penetrated it at extremely close range. Jack didn't scream; he owed Ianto that much. Good riddance to life. Love in death was far more preferable.

**Review please. I don't mind if it is one word or an essay, feedback is fabulous. :) MC. x**


	7. Chapter 7

**Hello again (or welcome, depending on how many times you've been here)! Thank you for all the reviews and alerts so far - keep them coming please, because they help me gauge my writing skills. A nice little bit of non-Jack angst here for a change, so I hope you like it. Read and review with your opinions! :) x**

**DISCLAIMER: The characters and show aren't mine, but the plot is. Even if it does kill off a certain Mr Jones... x**

_**The Present.  
7 hours 13 minutes and 10.5 seconds after Time of Death. Location: Basement Flat 102, Whitchurch Street, Cathays, Cardiff. Deceased Operative – Ianto Jones, aged 26, Caucasian, Torchwood Archivist, Colleague.**_

She was hunched up upon her bed; her eyes raw from crying, blackened makeup tear tracks stained across her cheeks. Very few people ever noticed when she had been crying or upset, or just any emotion in particular; they only ever saw potential, intelligence, a general perfectionism. She just sat in the background and kept her head bent down over her work. She just did her job in silence, so no one noticed or bothered with her emotions.

Except Ianto had noticed; he had checked up on her, even if it was just a few words and a coffee. He had listened to everything without judgement, commented when needed, and always ultimately accepted her decision. And she had done the same for him. They had been like two lost children, clinging to each other for support in an outside world that neither of them quite understood. That was why Ianto's death had reduced Toshiko to a grieving mess, and now a resigned despondency. The outside world seemed a lot scarier without him.

Still fully clothed, she hoisted the sheets over herself and lay curled into a foetal position. The three of them had given up on any form of procedure less than an hour after Jack had left them with nothing more than a wistful gaze around the Hub that matched his haunted expression. Owen had driven her home, hands still bloodied from the scrubbed pink floor, and left her to her thoughts without so much as a word. Her phone had beeped out a text tone two hours back, the message presumably from Gwen, but Toshiko had ignored it, unwilling to talk or even communicate with anyone. Fading into the background had its advantages, because the silence didn't argue or provide empty words; it was almost comforting. Although it didn't change the fact that she regretted her research findings, or that one of her last emotions towards the living Ianto had been fear, or that too much knowledge could destroy a person. The silence wouldn't change Jack's words when she had told him of her findings, or the choking sob that he had emitted when he had pulled the trigger. That sound resonated around Toshiko's bedroom with chilling finality. It echoed Toshiko's own loss.

_**The Past  
Exactly 8:46:58 PM. 3 Hours 13 Minutes and 12 Seconds Prior to Time of Death. Location: Torchwood Hub, Toshiko Sato's Work Area. Occupant: Miss Toshiko Sato. Findings: Alarming.**_

Toshiko never swore. Her mother denounced it as bad manners; the height of disrespect towards her elders. But given what conclusions had just flashed up on her screen, she was willing to make exceptions, just this once. A really big exception.

Deciphering the separate equations from the Rift storm had taken up the best part of her day, and that was before she had got around to sequencing and solving them. Doing so had given her the position of the largest opening, as well as the time and date of origin. The coordinates for the opening at this end had been unusually specific, even for Toshiko's highly advanced equipment; a single six digit number remaining constant, without any fluctuations whatsoever, for a period of 123 seconds. Cross-referencing this with the period in which both she and Jack had been alerted to the fact that the comms had momentarily shorted out, she had found that the two events had been simultaneous. Investigating further, she had then precisely noted the last location of the team's comms during the blank out and superimposed them over her Rift storm data. Ianto had been there when the Rift opened.

Given Ianto's close proximity at the time, Toshiko had initially concluded that he must have seen what came through before he collapsed; Ianto had seemed far too dazed to give any details about that period when the other men had come staggering in supporting him later that night, and frankly Toshiko had been tactful enough not to ask him anything. Now she was really wishing that she had; it was likely that it would have been the last honest answer he could have given her.

When Ianto had finally drifted into the Hub a few hours later, Toshiko had been delving further into her findings, waiting to see if Ianto had any evidence to support her conclusions. This meant using the alien database in conjunction with the Rift readings; organisms, technology, and matter could only fit through specific types of opening, and whatever had washed up in the storm had at least been sentient. She had narrowed things down to about fifty known alien predators when she had looked up from her work and noticed how wrong Ianto was. Literally, everything was wrong, and it went beyond his outward attitude and appearance; when he had moved past her, the small smile that had she directed towards him faltered. His pupils were blown, and he seemed to emit a kind of energy that utterly repulsed her to the point of fearing for her life; it gave her the impression that she was choking in noxious gas. It had taken her a while to recover, and in that time Owen and Jack had disappeared and come back; the former looking irate and puzzled, the latter forlorn but determined, and both resumed their duties without speaking to anyone. It was then that Toshiko had altered her search criteria: _Include non-distinct entities, omit least likely possibilities_. Performing a remote bioscan on Ianto, she settled for waiting anxiously as Gwen babbled on irritatingly about Ianto being a 'poor lamb', evidently lacking perception in a concerning situation.

She stopped digging for clues when the search ended with one grim result. After reading and double checking her findings twice, Toshiko hit the print button, snatched up her coffee and headed for Jack's office. For once, she didn't bother knocking.

'Jack, I've found something serious. I think Ianto might not be Ianto. It's a possession – the alien that came through the Rift last night took him.'

Jack was staring listlessly at two of his monitors, watching CCTV footage meticulously. One contained the footage from the side street in Barry last night, the other held real time footage of the Archives. Toshiko winced as she watched Ianto startle at something out of sight, then collapse convulsing. She placed her findings on the desk, with the species files at the top of the pile, and started to explain. Jack held up his hand, cutting her off before she'd barely begun. His voice was little more than a whisper.

'I know.'

'What?' Toshiko was startled by Jack's bluntness as he pushed the files away with distaste, his eyes not moving from the screen as he watched the impostor single-handedly destroy the Archives in a search for more classified material and the final moments of the true Ianto Jones begin again on a loop. When Jack didn't answer her, Toshiko tried again. 'How did you find out?'

'In the tunnels – things happened but I – he's still in there. Tosh, he's losing.' Jack's voice was strained; Toshiko knew he was close to the edge. He was despairing over potential loss, and she needed to drag him back if Ianto had any chance of returning to them.

'Can we stop it? Is there any chance of getting him back? The reports say that they are capable of higher cognitive functions –' Toshiko trailed off when she saw Jack's expression.

'The Drosraxia are known to be openly hostile to anyone but the higher forms of their own species. I could try and reason with it – I _have_ to try and reason with it – but it's unlikely that it will do any good.' He turned away, massaging his brow in a gesture that covered most of his face, hiding all expression from Toshiko. 'Seeing as it thinks we do not possess enough intelligence to put the facts together, we could buy some time until we find a way, but the risk increases if we do. The host acts as a reproductive vehicle, a protective shell; the longer it is inside Ianto, the more of him slips away and the more of them come out. Any solution involves threat.'

Toshiko noticed Jack contemplating the centrepiece of his desk; his Webley. She chose not to say anything and instead decided upon action.

'What do you want me to do, Jack?'

He gave her a small sad smile that didn't reach his eyes. 'Find all you can on Drosraxia. You might need to try the classified technology, but I'm pretty sure there might be something to reverse the process. Take the others down there with you and explain what's going on; you are gonna need help in Classified without Ianto. And don't touch anything with a red box or the toxic symbol on it. Bring what you have to me in an hour.' He stood up and wandered to the far corner of his office, toying with his wrist strap. Toshiko made to leave but stopped.

'Everything is going to be okay isn't it, Jack?'

'Yeah.' His back was turned as he replied, the singular word riddled with doubt. Jack was a proficient enough liar, but Toshiko could tell that he didn't believe it himself. It wouldn't stop her from trying though. As she crossed the doorway in the direction of her laptop Toshiko could have sworn that she heard a meek whisper from Jack:  
'I can't let him be dead to me. I won't do that to him.'

Seconds later, her exhaling breath was caught in her throat as someone slammed her into the wall. She let out a sharp piercing cry and saw in horror as her eyesight came back into focus that Ianto was holding her there; it knew.

'So, the clever little bitch found me out? Now this is getting fun, is it not?'

Fingers tightened around Toshiko's neck, threatening to snap it as she began to slip in and out of consciousness. A cacophony of shouting barely registered as Toshiko struggled valiantly to breathe.

'Let's see what his darling Captain thinks of this then.' The voice that was-but-wasn't-Ianto's continued to purr. 'It rather does spoil my plans, but I do love painful decisions. They are to die for, aren't they?'

Toshiko was becoming weak, seconds seeming like hours until she felt someone wrench her free. First choking, and then breathing deeply as she glanced upwards. The look in Jack's eyes told her everything. The gun was the only way to save Ianto, and that responsibility lay with Jack. For the second time that day, Toshiko contemplated swearing.

_**The Present.  
7 hours 13 minutes and 10.5 seconds after Time of Death. Location: Basement Flat 102, Whitchurch Street, Cathays, Cardiff. Deceased Operative – Ianto Jones, aged 26, Caucasian, Torchwood Archivist, Colleague, Best Friend.**_

Toshiko didn't want to sleep; the day's events were far too deeply tattooed on her inner eyelids. Instead, she just thought. The whole team was fractured now, an emotional earthquake as a consequence of this sick alien parody of Romeo and Juliet. She was certain that Jack wouldn't return to them without Ianto. It should have been remarkable that one person could make a difference to the infrastructure of Torchwood, but it wasn't. Ianto's death had forced them all to rethink their values tonight; wonder if every little decision was the right or wrong one, if they should have done more, and how much of this was their doing. It wouldn't change the world, but it would certainly change Torchwood.

As Toshiko watched, the sun rose lazily over Cardiff. To say that Ianto would be sorely missed was a severe understatement. He had left a vacuum that would be titanic to feel. Not just for Torchwood or for Jack, but for all of them. In the space of little over twenty eight hours, the world had lost so much

They put themselves on the front line for a reason; protection. It wasn't glamorous or a hero's death, it was just something they did. It made no difference that they were only human. It was the only positive that she could find.

**Reviews are nice *hint, hint*. :D MC. x**


	8. Chapter 8

**Surprise! An early update to prepare you for the final chapter next week. This is incredibly angsty, but I'm sure you can figure out why. As always, please read and review, otherwise the plot bunnies hold me to ransom. x**

**DISCLAIMER: Torchwood isn't mine; but what with all the hype starting up again for Miracle Day, I wouldn't mind having the rights so I could peek at what goes on. x**

_**The Present.  
Approximately 3 hours 10 minutes after Time of Death. Location: Unknown Tower Block. Deceased Operative – Ianto Jones, aged 26, Caucasian, Torchwood Archivist, Lover, Innocent, Monster.**_

The choke of sharp, stale air being forced one last time into poisonous lungs. A searing fire burns as blood is artistically spattered from an already broken heart. Brutal gravity forcing the head back to bear witness to the smoke black sky; a prelude to the snapping of the spine upon impact, the mercy of which spares the agony as almost every other bone shatters.

Crack. It echoes in the night. The immortal marionette, once again, sprawled on the concrete in a pool of his own blood. The remaining light fades slowly from his eyes.

He sees nothing as he drowns in oblivion.

_**The Past  
Exactly 10:10:55 PM. 1 Hour 45 Minutes Prior to Time of Death. Location: Torchwood Hub. Resolution of Captain Jack Harkness: Barely Conclusive.**_

Jack grabbed the body by the collar, though Ianto would literally kill him later for ruffling the clothing – if Ianto could ever come back. But no, Jack couldn't think about that right now, because he had to try; Jack would do whatever it took to get this thing out of Ianto. Jack forced it into his office, desperate to be careful with the beautiful body in a situation which almost certainly required aggression, with a shove that caused it to stumble. The glass rattled in its panes, tremors reverberating around the room as Jack slammed the door with echoing discontent. He looked slowly up at the creature as it used Ianto's perfect mouth to smirk back at him.

'Why are you here?' Jack kept his voice low and steady, as much for the purposes of interrogation as to keep his own emotions in check. The Drosraxia laughed softly.

'Do we really need to know that, Captain? Would that not be stating the obvious?' It tilted Ianto's head to one side, as if curious, the ice-blue eyes boring into Jack with unnatural intensity. Jack wanted to vomit, refusing to meet the Drosraxia's gaze as it continued. 'You are quite a difficult one to read, Jack, although I still see you. You remain translucent, and so will gain the villainous monologue that you, as an inferior, desire.' It moved closer to Jack, sauntering an imitation of one of Ianto's sexiest walks. If the Drosraxia was seeking to make Jack feel uncomfortable, it was working.

'Just cut to the chase!' Jack snapped. He didn't want to be in a room with this thing longer than he had to be; he wanted it out of Ianto before it caused any more pain. And when it was out, he would show the Drosraxia exactly what happened if anyone touched his team, followed by less mercy that it could ever imagine for possessing Ianto.

'Well, if I must, _Sir_.' The creature snorted in amusement as Jack evidently winced at its choice of words. 'I have been exiled; displaced by my subordinates upon threat of death.' It stated bluntly, 'I needed an escape – your 'Rift' proved adequate. Unfortunately, your ridiculously nitrous atmosphere refuses to support my natural form for little more than a minute. In this situation, I revert to basic instincts and take one a host. The weevils proved far too primitive for my tastes and their primal behaviour disagreed with my rather delicate digestive system. The issue was dealt with appropriate measures for a lower species, and I took the form of the highest species available.' It contorted Ianto's features into an ugly expression of distaste. 'Which, coincidently, are quite vulgar.'

'Why Ianto?' Jack blurted out; he hadn't meant to say anything, but the evidence of his failure to protect Ianto was laid bare in front of him. Feelings that he couldn't afford to admit were forced boiling just below the surface because of danger of the fact that where the Drosraxia ended, Ianto began. He watched Ianto's body meander around the room. 'There were three of us in the field. You could have chosen any one of us. Why him?'

It stopped its sweep of the office, pausing for thought with a casual sidelong glance at Jack. 'A lack of proximity, in your own case; though I attain great speeds over a short range, I deemed it inappropriate for one such as yourself. I find that the mongrels of certain species prove to be the most uncooperative and difficult of hosts. The physician has mediocre intelligence and all the grace of an ape, which left Mr Jones here are the only suitable option. And he is all the better, considering.'

Jack tensed. 'Considering what?'

'Considering his knowledge, Captain Harkness – or do you prefer another name?' The Drosraxia leered at Jack repulsively before resuming its prowl. Jack was holding his nerve, but only just so. 'He really is rather observant as well as intelligent, which causes his mind to become an asset even if the body is sluggish. His knowledge of this planet, of government, of weaponry, and of Torchwood is impeccable. Or should I say, was impeccable, until it became mine. His subconscious arsenal is even greater, though he never realised it; he even has pretty damn accurate ideas of where you have been, Jack.' Ianto's hand fondled the piece of TARDIS coral that lay on Jack's desk. 'Enhanced by my own abilities of course, even if your mind is not truly open to my exploration. It was how I knew that the Asian had calculated my presence – her mind is full of the right numbers that almost make sense. Nevertheless, what I really love about Ianto Jones is his attachment to you. You are both so desperate and clingy when it comes to the other that it is sickening, yet you remain so aloof. Mr Jones has true power over you, and now I am Mr Jones.'

'I want you out of him now.' Jack was beyond feigning indifference; if what the Drosraxia said was true, it could start anything from serial murders to a nuclear war, and the blood would literally be stained on Ianto's hands. The information that it appeared to have on Jack alone could be lethal if sold for the right price. Jack knew that it was attempting to manipulate him and succeeding by far, but he didn't care. Panic was setting in now, because Jack knew that if he didn't make a decision soon, anything and everything in Jack's world would be lost. When he straightened up to face the creature, he met less than two feet away scarlet irises that masked Ianto's original blues. It was time for an ultimatum. 'Release your hold on Ianto and we can get you inside a containment field for safe passage. If you don't cooperate, I'll force you out into pure nitrogen and kill you myself.'

'I very much doubt it. You see, Mr Jones and I were talking last night and came to an arrangement of sorts. I gain complete control and acceptance of his mind and body, in exchange for not obliterating the rest of the Homo sapiens species, starting with the rest of your little arrogant bunch out there. Ah, but there is one thing that I forgot to mention to him, which is useful because now he is too distant to counteract it. I usually refuse to fertilise a host – I am above these labours – albeit Ianto Jones' position and mentality is a useful one. It will be like your social networking, yet more sophisticated and ideal for the intelligent repopulation of Sol 3.' The Drosraxia made a sudden jerking movement and stretched Ianto's vocal chords into a high pitched laugh. 'Oh, he's not happy with that. What is that? You want to come out and see your Captain? Welcome to Ianto Jones' dying wish, Jack.'

Ianto's eyes glazed over, resuming their usual brilliant blue, and his stiff posture slackened as Jack watched a shaky sob course through Ianto's body. Jack closed the gap between them.

'Ianto? Are you there?'

'It hurts, Jack.' Ianto shone out, his voice gravely with distress that matched his freely falling tears. 'It hurts me and wants to kill me. I'm sorry – I couldn't stop it. The things it's told me, I –'

'Ssshhh.' Jack gently placed a finger upon Ianto's lips, moving in closer. 'I know, Ianto. It's okay, I'm going to put a stop to this. You won't hurt anymore.'

'It won't ever stop, Jack. It is in every little part of me. It knows everything.'

Jack watched Ianto's anguish, willing to barter anything to trade places with him as a violent spasm brought on a fresh bout of tears.

'Ianto, I'll make it stop. I promise.'

Jack found contact with Ianto's luscious mouth and became enthralled in a passionate kiss, enveloping Ianto in his arms. He barely noticed when Ianto stopped crying and straightened up. Jack only pulled away when the kiss became less enthusiastic, lingering on the taste of Ianto's mouth as he stared back again at the arrogant Drosraxia.

'I may vomit. Considering that my natural form is mainly gas particulates, even I find this relationship repulsive enough to consider an offer of privacy during a hosting period.'

'Bastard. Let him go or I will kill you.' Jack stumbled backwards, pointing his gun at a point just above the head.

'Except you won't will you – you saw what I achieved with the weevils. Would you want your Ianto to lay in pieces beside them?' It beamed, as though seeing the imagined scene that flashed into Jack's thoughts. 'I thought not. You are a coward and a mongrel, Captain Jack Harkness, and you do not have the superiority to murder one who is so above you. Your emotions cloud your judgement, and you will not kill me because I resemble him. In less than a few minutes I will be all that is left of Ianto Jones.'

Jack watched, dazed, as Ianto's body smoothed its clothing, shot Jack a demonic glare, and strode smugly from the office. He exhaled a long jagged breath and bent over the desk, palms face down on the cool surface. Jack had never wanted it to come to this, except that there was no other way out. He couldn't force exorcism because the Drosraxia's defence mechanism would guarantee Ianto's death, but Jack would never keep the Drosraxia alive. Jack had seen the agony that Ianto was in as the creature tore into his remaining threads of life like a vulture's carrion and, once Ianto was gone, the Drosraxia's plans would remain. Ianto was dying either way, and it was all Jack could do to take away the pain. Circumstance creates killers; Jack had killed before and it would doubtless happen again, but this was the first time that he had killed for love. This went beyond mercy. It would cost Jack everything because he could not stand to see Ianto in pain.

Jack examined his worn and tarnished Webley Mark IV; one bullet, one shot. There was neither room nor time for mistakes, which meant that Jack couldn't change his mind in ending this. He crossed the room slowly in an executioner's walk to the gallows and whispered to the air.

'I love you. I'm sorry.'

_**The Past  
**__**00:00:00 AM. Midnight.**_

Bang.

**Review Please. :) MC. x**


	9. Chapter 9

**Last chapter, people. Try not to hate me by the end of it, but please review either way. :) x**

**DISCLAIMER: I own nothing but a computer, and that includes the line which I stole from CoE. x**

_**Nowhere**_

The darkness yielded nothing to Jack. It never had, it was how it was supposed to be. He was intimate with death, yet it rejected him because he didn't belong to it. Hence Jack usually saw and felt nothing. Death was nothing. He was nowhere.

Except that this time was different. Jack _could_ feel. He couldn't imagine soft lips ghosting playfully over his own because death had no imagination. Why would Jack bother thinking that now? As his mouth opened slightly with surprise, an exploratory tongue flicked over his teeth. You could not succumb to insanity without consciousness, so it couldn't be real, and oblivion didn't have time for games. Yet the kiss seemed to grow deeper, forcing itself upon Jack until he felt more than obliged to respond, growing more and more enthusiastic just to spite death once more, not caring if it was impossible or wasn't real because he loved it and he needed it. Jack could almost taste its familiarity; almost feel the searching pressure of the hungriest and most recognisable kiss he had ever know. Then it stopped.

Jack forced eyes that he wasn't even sure were there to open. He felt as though he was lying on his back, vaguely supported by something wrapped around him, yet there was the usual sensation of not seeming to have a body and just an inert sense of form. The darkness was blurred, gaining the translucency and privacy of a misted bathroom window, so three-dimensional that it had to be more than an illusion. Someone had created a space that was neither meeting room nor gateway, doing the impossible thing of defying Jack's darkness.

'You did good Jack.'

Upon hearing the whisper against his cheek, Jack's eyes shot upwards, finally realising who was holding him; as he took in every feature, Jack would have died of shock had not already ascertained the fact that he was already dead. Jack scrambled to he knees and dived in for another kiss, just to make sure, and let ghostly tears fall freely into the blur.

'Did I, Ianto?'

'Well, yes.' Ianto's face formed a wry smile, a gesture so like him that Jack was losing the last of his doubts as to where he was. 'Although not the suicide bit.' Sarcasm slipped effortlessly into his tone. 'I believe that there are far sweeter sentiments than a bloodied mess that someone else has to clean up, Sir. I would suggest that you could have left a year's paperwork untouched, except that it is already a regular occurrence.'

'I killed you.' Jack couldn't keep the pain out of his voice, equal with the marvel of a reunion. Maybe he had stayed dead this time?

'It's okay.' Ianto shushed Jack's attempt at a reply before continuing, his voice soft and soothing. 'You did all that you could. It was the right thing. The Drosraxia died with me; it was so parasitic that the shock alone killed it. Captain Jack Harkness saved the world for me.'

'Is this real? I mean, it is different. Did I definitely die this time?'

'Apparently so, considering that it took me two hours of relative time to establish that I am definitely not living.' Ianto looked pained as Jack moved closer to him, inhaling his scent. 'You really shouldn't have jumped, Jack. Or have done anything else to yourself.'

'I wanted to die.' Jack nearly choked on his words as he all but snuggled into Ianto's embrace. Seeing the misery appearing on Ianto's face, Jack quickly changed the subject. 'So where are we? I'm not exactly used to anything but the void, let alone someone else being here.

'I'm not entirely sure.' Ianto admitted. 'I think it is go-between dimension. I was networking from the moment that I got here – you've always said that you need to know what you are dealing with from the start – and I started asking questions that a few of the top people were getting cagey about. They did answer me a few, though, with persuasion.' A small smile. 'They said that if you died again, you couldn't come anywhere near the place where I was, but that we needed to talk when you did. I needed to talk.'

'So they set us up here? Not the best place I've stayed in, but it is a hell of a lot better than before.' Jack let out as small, minutely hysterical laugh.

'Exactly, so stop complaining!' The smile in Ianto's tone relaxed Jack a little. 'It was a bit disconcerting, but as soon as you died I ended up here. I just had to wait for your brain to realise it before I could wake you up. Now who's Sleeping Beauty?' Jack felt Ianto's kiss again, this time on the cheek before Ianto shifted to face him. 'Welcome to alternative Limbo.' Ianto said with a smirk.

Jack paused for thought for a second, allowing curiosity to get the better of him.

'What was it like, where you were?'

'I can't tell you.' Ianto apologised. 'That was literally the one rule for allowing me to come here.'

'Oh.' It made sense.

Silence fell abruptly between them, with an added awkwardness to the conversation presiding over it. They remained knelt opposite one another, almost parallel, gazing into each other's eyes and holding hands childishly whilst deliberately trying to avoid the question that they knew was bubbling close to Jack's lips. The answer was obvious, yet neither man wanted to voice it. Jack watched as Ianto tore his gaze away sadly.

'You can't stay here, Jack.' He whispered, not allowing Jack to see his face.

'But –.' Jack was hurt and confused. He had died to stay here; it was meant to be a means to an end.

'Seriously,' Ianto continued, turning to face Jack, his features deadpan. 'We both know that you don't belong here. Your immortality is meant to last, Jack.'

'I don't want it to.' There was an edge of panic. If Jack could only stay here, huddled in the dark with Ianto, things would be okay again. He could say everything that he had never been able to whilst they were living, because there could be nothing to fear or lose by admitting it aloud. Jack couldn't go back to the permanent hell and chaos of the living. He lowered his head and mumbled. 'I can't lose anything else.' He couldn't lose Ianto.

Ianto seemed fairly calm in comparison. 'I know, but you have to go back. These people who I spoke to, the ones that let you meet me here, they said that you cause disruptions to the place. You're like a lit fuse wire, Jack, and if you stay longer than your time limit – they called it a 'limbo period' – the bomb will go off. Apparently your last, um, extended stay caused quite a few problems. Besides, the outside world needs Captain Jack Harkness more than I do here.'

Jack felt dumbfounded. While Ianto appeared outwardly saddened at the prospect, it felt like he was actively pushing Jack away. The truth hurt even when it was for Jack's own good, yet Jack knew he had no choice in the matter. It was minutes before either of them spoke again, and it was once more Ianto who broke the silence.

'These people who found me; I mean, I never really wanted to ask you – I'm not entirely sure that I want it at all –.' Ianto inhaled sharply before trying again. 'They said that it technically isn't my time yet; that I came here prematurely when they want to keep me for something else.' He cupped Jack's head in his hands, forcing their two pairs of dazzling blue eyes to meet once more. 'There might be a way to bring me back.'

This stunned Jack more than anything else, a feeling which was quickly followed by relief, excitement, and a tidal wave of questions that began to spew out of him. 'What?' and 'How?' were at the forefront. Ianto silenced Jack with a hand.

'It's not a permanent thing, mind, and I'd never want it to be. But they want to give me a second chance for some reason; they won't tell me why, only they can't do anything from here. It's your choice whether I get to take it.' Ianto looked uneasy; uncertain, even. He didn't seem to know entirely what he wanted, or what Jack's answer would be. Jack, however, did know his answer; it was impulsively out in the open before he really had any time to think.

'You're taking it.'

Ianto raised his eyebrow questioningly at Jack's eagerness before continuing. 'Um, right then. There is a folder down in the Plans section of the Archives filed between Cold Fusion Cruiser and Cyberman.' Ianto visibly winced with the last word. 'I discovered it while you were away. It's called the Cerebrum Project; I can't remember the exact details but they think it has the potential to become a bodily gateway between dimensions, including this one. Jack, the people here want you to use it to help me cross back through.'

'What about the Drosraxia? It still is etched inside your body; it could resurrect inside you.' Jack was concerned. What was the point in trying to bring Ianto back to find that the parasite was still torturing him?

'Ah,' Ianto gave Jack a rare, genuine smile. 'They did see a problem with that, but Owen managed to accidentally get rid of it.'

'Owen did what?'

'A drop of his blood entered my body; even dead, the Drosraxia apparently cannot stand being less superior to another species. A large amount of uncontrolled human DNA can wipe it out in seconds without the defences being up. So I was technically purified by Owen. I would say that neither of us will ever live that down, but it hardly seems appropriate.'

Both of them smirked at the thought, before Jack became conscious that they had a limited time together for the moment. Selecting carefully what he had to ask, Jack cut to the chase.

'Whatever this project is, I'll do it. How long will it take?'

Ianto shook his head. 'I've no idea, other than that it will be a while before I can come back. Read the file. They said to take the stopwatch with you; for some reason they think you'll use it for more mundane purposes than they give us credit for.' He snorted.

'How long have we got?' Jack didn't mean for the Project. He was still torn over leaving.

'Seconds.' The two of them were suddenly self-conscious, almost at a loss for parting words. When Jack spoke, there was an evident plea in his tone which he didn't bother to hide.

'Ianto, don't go. Don't leave me please.'

Ianto gently kissed Jack's forehead. Jack closed his eyes, absorbing the lightest of touches and committing them to memory.

'You are leaving me, Jack, not the other way around. I have to stay here for the time being.' His voice grew distant and Jack strained to hear it. 'I'll see you again, sometime.'

_**Cardiff General Hospital, Ward 68B: Mortuary. Resurrection Time of Captain Jack Harkness: 5:02:46 AM.**_

Hurtling back into life with a gulp of oxygen that preceded the renewed thumping of his heart, Jack opened his eyes to the glare of the overhead lighting, white spots dancing across his vision before the pupils could contract. He sat up with a rustle of the hospital gown and flexed his muscles. Ignoring the panicked squeak of an intern, he picked up his bloodstained belongings and made for the mortuary exit.

Upon walking out of the hospital, his decision was made. He knew what he had to do.

_Finis_

**The sequel will only appear when I get lots of reviews, especially if you guys love the idea of one! :D MC. x**


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